Republic Commando: Chain of Command
by Mathen Nors
Summary: For Delta Squad, the battle has just begun, as Separatist forces begin their invasion of Kashyyk. But even as they battle against overwhelming odds, they're given new orders, orders that could have fearsome consequences.
1. Chapter 1: What Has Gone Before

**Author's Notes and Disclaimer: **Firstly, the Star Wars universe, settings, and characters therein are not my creation. You all know this, but it makes me feel better to say it anyway. Secondly, this story is my version of events of what happened after the events of the game _Republic Commando_, by Lucas Arts. Please be advised that I have not read the Republic Commando book _Hard Contact_; therefore, I do not know if I'm covering a time frame that has already been covered, or whether or not my story will even make sense to those who have read it. This story is how I can see the plot lines progressing, and I hope you'll all enjoy my vision of the events.

"You are each a piece of a whole person,

and the Republic will call you to defend

and give your lives, if need be."

Unknown Kaminoan, "The Beginning," _Republic Commando_

**What Has Gone Before…**

The elite team of cloned Republic Commandos known as Delta Squad has succeeded in keeping the Wookie resistance on Kashyyk alive and able to fight back against the Separatist invasion, but only at great cost. Delta 0-7, known to his teammates as "Sev," is missing, presumed killed in action.

With no time to search for their fallen comrade, the rest of Delta Squad has been order back into combat against the first elements of what is quickly proving to be a massive Separatist assault force. Under the orders of General Grievous, a cunning and twisted biological cyborg, the hordes of battle droids and Geonosian warriors are bent on capturing the beautiful Wookie home world.

But even as they begin their next mission against the enemy on Kashyyk, Delta Squad is starting to detect signs that not all is well within the Republic itself. And the most prominent of these signs is an unexpected order from Chancellor Palpatine – an order that carries terrifying connotations, and the possibility of even more fearsome consequences…


	2. Chapter 2: LZ

**LZ:**

The Republic drop ship shuddered violently as the first of the anti-air bursts started streaking upward from the canopy of massive trees below. The pilot took the ungainly craft into a zigzag pattern, cleanly avoiding two more shots and skimming through the dissipating remains of third.

Delta 3-8, the leader of Delta Squad – or what was left of it – felt his teeth rattle as yet another burst exploded just in front of the cockpit canopy, spraying the drop ship with fire and pieces of shrapnel. Gripping the overhead handholds tightly, he kept his knees flexed so he could ride the resulting shockwave without loosing his footing.

"Pilot!" he shouted over the din of exploding shells. "What's our status?"

The pilot didn't respond as he rolled the drop ship onto its starboard side and dove sharply toward the canopy to avoid another volley of fire. Instead, the co-pilot glanced over his shoulder. "The landing zone is still five minutes out, sir!" he yelled back. "Our scanners are detecting multiple anti-aircraft platforms along our route!"

"That Separatist cruiser must have dropped them off before we killed it," Delta 4-0 – "Fixer" – added. "And I thought we'd already done the hard part!"

3-8 shook his head. "I've got a feeling that our day is just getting started," he said dryly.

"Aww, I haven't had my stimcaf yet!" Delta 6-2 complained.

"Since when did you start drinking stimcaf, Scorch?" Fixer asked.

"Since Trandoshans started trying to ruin my morning, _every_ morning," Scorch replied.

Ordinarily, 3-8 would have put a stop to their chatter, but for now, he let them talk. He knew it was just a façade, a front to cover their anger and grief over the loss of Sev. He felt even worse than they did, he realized. He was the one that had made the final decision to leave Delta 0-7 to whatever fate had befallen him, and follow orders instead. Soon, it would be back to business, but in the meantime, he would let them deal with their grief in their own ways.

His attention was brought back to the present as the portable holopad in the center of the drop ship's troop bay flickered to life. The image of their Advisor, a low ranking clone officer who relayed orders to them from Command, resolved from the haze of static. "Delta Squad," he said, his voice almost exactly the same as 3-8's, "I've just received your next set of orders. Once your reach your designated LZ, proceed approximately five klicks north to this point here." His image faded and was replaced by a rotating tactical map. A red circular marker flashed over a heavy concentration of trees that appeared to be taller than most of the others in the area. "It used to be a sort of fortress for the Wookies, but shortly after this battle started, Separatist forces wiped out the garrison there and took it over. Now it's a command and control center for the anti-aircraft platforms in this area."

"You mean they're automated?" Scorch asked.

"Not exactly," the Advisor replied. "They're manned by standard battle droids, but because the trees are so dense here, the Separatist ships in orbit can't get reliable signals down there to each individual droid. So they're using the command center at Point Alpha as a relay station. Take out Point Alpha, and all the platforms go down. Once that's done, we'll be able to use this area as a muster point for the main battle that's about to take place west of here."

Another anti-aircraft burst exploded just meters to the port of the open troop bay door, filling the compartment with smoke and sparks for a brief second. One of the portside laser turrets imploded, and the body of the clone trooper that had manned it spun away into the forest below. Smoke and hydraulic fluids spewed from the wing, leaving a highly visible trail in the morning sky. The drop ship bucked and tried to roll, but the pilot and co-pilot managed to keep it steady.

"Scorch, get those hatches closed," 3-8 commanded. "We don't want to get killed by shrapnel before we ever touch down."

"Copy that, boss," 6-2 replied. He hit the hatch controls, and the doors slid closed.

"Delta Squad, are you still there?" the Advisor asked as the hologram flickered and sputtered. "I lost your transmission there for a moment."

"We're still here, sir," 3-8 responded. "But the LZ is only two-point-five minutes out, and things are starting to get hot down here."

"Right, I'll try to make this quick," the clone officer said. "Once you've taken out the command and control center, you're to proceed west and rendezvous with Battalion Six at the main battle site. You'll receive your next orders there."

"Understood, sir," 3-8 said.

The image of the Advisor vanished, and Fixer picked up the holo emitter and clipped it to his belt. "Convenient how they just assume that we'll live long enough to reach the rendezvous point," he muttered.

"Hey, Battalion Six," Scorch interjected. "Aren't they the guys that dropped into the arena on Geonosis at Zero Hour?"

"That's right," 3-8 confirmed. "They've been the best regular unit the Republic's had since the war started. Command must think they're in for a fight if Battalion Six is on the front line here."

The drop ship rattled again as more anti-aircraft bursts started blooming in the sky around it. The pilot glanced over his shoulder into the troop bay. "Coming up on the LZ! Sixty seconds until drop off!"

"You heard him, Deltas!" 3-8 yelled. "Weapons ready!"

The commandos snapped power packs into their blaster carbines and made last minute checks to ensure that they were combat ready.

"I've got a visual on the LZ," the pilot reported. He hesitated. "Something's wrong."

"Explain," 3-8 demanded.

"Scanners are picking up a lot of movement down there," the co-pilot put in as the pilot concentrated on avoiding the next round of fire. "Looks like the enemy is expecting you."

"That's impossible," 3-8 returned. "We didn't receive the coordinates ourselves until you picked us up."

"Could be just a bad coincidence," Scorch said.

"I wouldn't count on it," 3-8 said. "If there's one thing I've learned about this war, it's that there are no such things as coincidences – especially bad ones. Something must have tipped them off that we were coming."

"We'll make for the secondary LZ!" the co-pilot shouted over the increasing cacophony of incoming fire. "There's less activity there!"

"Almost there!" the pilot added. "Fifteen seconds –"

With a _whump_ that jarred them to their bones, the world suddenly flashed white, then orange, as an anti-aircraft burst exploded less than a meter from the cockpit. The drop ship reeled crazily through the air, completing one full roll before it stabilized a bit.

3-8 looked up from where he had been thrown to the deck plates. 4-0 had been thrown to the back of the compartment, but was pulling himself upright with vehement curses. 6-2 was getting to his hands and knees, voicing the same displeasure.

The compartment was filled with smoke and small bits of flaming debris, and the view port in the portside boarding hatch had been shattered. Wind howled around the troopers as it streamed in through the new opening.

The cockpit had fared much worse. The canopy was mostly gone, and flames flared and sputtered from most of the consoles. The port forward cannon was bent up and across the front of the craft, torn nearly from its turret housing. The pilot was obviously dead. He hung halfway out of his seat, his armor scorched and stained with blood, his faceplate visor spider webbed with cracks.

The co-pilot jerked himself upright in his chair, struggling with the controls as the wounded craft started to fail. "Hold on!" he shouted, his voice tight with pain. "We're coming in too fast! I'm going to try to slow us down!"

"Deltas, if you're not holding onto something, now would be a good time!" 3-8 added. Suiting actions to words, he grabbed onto the overhead handholds with both hands.

A loud pop and the hiss of burning fuels announced the failure of the port engine, and the drop ship started to nose to the left. The co-pilot decreased power to the starboard engine to correct, dipped the craft to avoid a scarlet burst of turbolaser fire, and somehow managed to keep the burning craft moving forward. Its fuselage shuddered and groaned as it stubbornly flew on, threatening to come apart at any moment.

"Touch down in five!" the co-pilot yelled.

"Opening starboard hatch!" 3-8 shouted. He unslung his blaster carbine as his two companions stepped up next to him, ready to exit the craft at his command.

The hatch ground open slowly, and as it did, 3-8 caught a brief glimpse of a narrow, wooden landing platform just meters beneath them. Then the drop ship slammed down with shattering force, and he found himself tumbling out the hatch onto the platform amid a cloud of splinters, metal, and smoke. 4-0 and 6-2 landed next to him.

They came up firing, aiming for a quartet of battle droids that had survived the spray of shrapnel and were charging headlong toward them. The first droid lost its head to a cerulean burst and went down, while two others spun away with shots to the torso. The last simply exploded as a hail of blue fire converged on it.

3-8 was still shaking off the effects of the rough landing as he took cover behind a pile of metal crates and tried to take stock of the situation. The platform, hewn from a huge, living branch of a giant worshyr tree, was swarming with battle droids, a handful of super battle droids, and numerous gun emplacements. There was even a turbo laser mount set up on the far side of the platform from his position.

"We're on the platform!" he shouted to the co-pilot over his helmet's comlink. "Get out of here!"

"Negative!" came the static-filled reply. The burning drop ship howled as it slowly lifted off the platform, its single remaining laser cannon spitting green fire at the targets swarming around it. "I'm not going anywhere until you're clear!" Wood splintered and droids exploded as the co-pilot started emptying his magazine of concussion missiles into the nearby trees, using their shockwaves as weapons. The laser cannon swung around, vaporizing a pair of battle droids before impaling a super battle droid. "Now get moving!"

"Copy that!" 3-8 replied soberly. "Delta Squad, move out!" He led the team toward one of the bridges that led off the platform, into a neighboring cluster of trees. As they went, he saw the turbolaser start to track them. "Move, move, move!" he urged.

"Oh, no you don't!" the pilot exclaimed over the com.

The drop ship's starboard engine flared out and burned as more thrust was applied than it could handle, but it was enough. The crippled craft lurched forward and plowed into the turbolaser emplacement, exploding into flame as it struck. The turret wobbled for a moment, then blew up, and the wreckage of both it and the drop ship tumbled over the side of the platform, along with a good portion of what was left of the battle droid unit.

In the lull that followed, Delta Squad quickly slipped across the bridge, and vanished into the trees.


	3. Chapter 3: Point Alpha

**Author's Notes: **Thanks to those who took the time to review my work. It's greatly appreciated, and I hope you'll continue to do so. Thanks also for the info and suggestions.

**Point Alpha:**

In the aftermath of the vicious firefight, the relative silence of the worshyr forest was almost deafening. Not even the birds and insects dared to make a sound in the wake of the chaos that had just shattered the peace. In the distance, a lone creature of some sort started chirping tentatively, but no others joined it.

Delta 3-8 sighted along the barrel of his DC-17M blaster carbine, alert for anything out of the ordinary as he scanned the path that lay before them. "Clear." He spoke normally, ensuring that his squad mates could hear him, but his helmet made sure that no one else could.

4-0 and 6-2 slipped past him, hurrying to positions further along the path. The trail they were following consisted mostly of worn footpaths that wound their way along mighty tree branches. Every now and then, they had to venture across fixed or swinging wooden bridges – particularly vulnerable spots – but nothing had threatened them so far.

"Clear!" Fixer said.

Scorch slipped past him, carbine held ready as he advanced.

Although he couldn't see very well beyond the canopy of trees above them, 3-8 thought he detected a tall, dark shape thrusting out of the forest ahead of them, interfering with the murky, mist-shrouded light cast by Kashyyk's sun. It had to be the Wookie fortress their Advisor had described to them – Point Alpha.

"Clear," Scorch reported, and 3-8 left his cover position and began advancing again.

They continued leapfrogging for several minutes, trying to watch in every direction at once. They had to pay attention to what was going on above and below them as well, as enemies could be lurking in the branches of the worshyr trees, or on different levels of bridges and platforms. Once, a patrol of half a dozen battle droids on a hover platform drifted past them on their right and slightly below, but the clone troopers found cover quickly, and the droids went on their way, oblivious to how close they'd come to permanent deactivation.

Finally, the solid, massive bridge that provided access to the fortress loomed ahead, carved from a single, living worshyr branch. Crafted railings lined its sides for much of its length, but every so often, branches high enough to be trees in their own right jutted upward from its sides, providing splashes of green color, and more than a little cover.

Not surprisingly, it was crawling with battle droids. The scorch marks and destroyed Wookie gun emplacements attested to the ferocity of the battle that had been fought only a few hours ago.

"I don't like the idea of a frontal assault," Fixer said quietly. He looked to 3-8 and 6-2, who were crouched next to him amidst a thicket of branches that grew next to the path.

"Why not?" Scorch asked. "We could take 'em. I don't even see a Super Battle droid out there."

"It's not just them that we should be worried about," 3-8 replied. "If we make an attack, every patrol in the area is going to descend upon us. We'd get caught in the open, and I don't have any illusions that we'd last very long."

"So we need to find a way to make a quiet entrance," Fixer said.

3-8 nodded. "Something like that."

"Stanchion guns," Scorch suggested. "If we can get around to the side of the fortress, we could find another way up into it, and just swing across."

"Fast, silent, and minimum time in the open," 3-8 said. "I like it."

"So what are we waiting for?" Fixer prompted.

They made another scan of the immediate vicinity, then started moving to their right, circling around to the side of the battered fortress. They knew better than to move in the open, and stayed well hidden among the vegetation that grew among the maze of branches, but surprisingly, they didn't come across any patrols. That was an odd oversight, even for battle droids that were operating without the benefit of a biological commander.

"No sentries," Scorch said softly over the com, echoing his leader's thoughts. "That's odd."

"And more than a bit disquieting," 3-8 agreed. "It's got to be a trap."

"After seeing what happened back at the LZ," Fixer put in, "I wouldn't be a bit surprised. So the question is, what's tipping them off to our operation?"

3-8 crouched at the edge of the branch they were standing on, and gazed through a screen of wide leaves across the gulf of open air that separated them from the Wookie fortress. "I'm not sure. We know the Separatists have had spies in the Republic before, but they've never even gotten close to Special Forces ops." He tapped a control on his wrist pad and brought the magnification of his helmet visor up, scanning the platforms, battlements and bridges that comprised the fortress' defenses on this side. "And right now, I don't think we've got time to figure that out. We need to do our job, then get to the rendezvous point with Battalion Six." He was silent for a few more moments as he watched for any sign of movement. "It looks like we're clear. Get your stanchion guns ready. We'll all go over at once, minimize the risk of detection. Distance is fifty-seven meters."

They slung their carbines over their shoulders, where they could access them quickly if the need arose., then unclipped the smaller, pistol-like stanchion guns from their ammo belts and set them for the correct distance.

"Where're we going, Boss?" Fixer asked.

"Aim just above that lowest platform, there," 3-8 said, pointing. "At this distance, we'll have enough slack in our lines to come across just below it. We'll let the guns pull us up, and we'll be back on our feet in only a few seconds."

The three commandos took careful aim, the hooks of the stanchions on the ends of their guns glittering in the light that filtered through the trees from above.

"Fire," 3-8 commanded.

With little more than a pop and a hiss, the stanchions shot across the open space, trailing long strands of flexible durasteel cable. They buried themselves in the wood of the mighty tree, exactly where 3-8 had indicated.

3-8 paused for a long moment, waiting to see if anything had noticed the small missiles. But still, nothing moved, and he gave a small sigh of relief. "All right, let's go. Keep your eyes open."

"First one to fall buys drinks when we get back to Coruscant," Scorch piped as he stepped off over the one hundred meter drop.

3-8 and 4-0 were right behind him, their heavy armor and gear lending acceleration as they arced down and across toward the fortress.

That was when the first beam of crimson light streaked out toward them.

"Holy nerf herders!" Scorch yelled in surprise as the bolt clipped his left shoulder plate, sending up white pieces of armor.

"Snipers!" 3-8 shouted. "Hold on!"

Several more bolts streaked out from the fortress, barely missing the commandos as they swung across. The platforms were swarming with battle droids, all of them armed with sniper carbines. Behind them, super battle droids were appearing on the scene.

Belatedly, 3-8 realized that they'd been watched since before they had tried to cross. Their element of surprise was hopelessly lost. They'd have to fight the enemy head on. "EM grenades!" he commanded as the side of the fortress rushed closer.

He pulled one of the grenades off his belt and tossed it up onto the platform he intended to reach, and then he slammed into the massive tree trunk with bone jarring force. The grenade exploded a split second later, and tendrils of lightning reached out toward everything that carried electronic components, sending up a cloud of sparks and smoke. A trio of snipers spasmed then dropped, their internal systems fried. Two more explosions announced that 4-2 and 6-0 had successfully delivered their grenades as well. Several more battle droids collapsed, and out of the corner of his eye, 3-8 saw a super battle droid topple over the edge of the platform and fall toward the forest floor one hundred meters below.

He waited until the last crackle of unleashed energy had dissipated, then tapped the ascend button next to his stanchion gun's trigger. It's small motor whined as it rapidly pulled him up, and he readied his DC-17M as the platform drew nearer. One battle droid made the mistake of poking its head over the edge to see what was on the other end of the cable, and it dropped backward with a surprised squawk as a cerulean beam caught it right between the eyes. More droids started toward the edge, realizing that the commandos were coming up, but they were too late.

3-8 rolled onto the platform as soon as he reached it, coming up to his knees, carbine leveled and blazing before the enemy could even begin to start drawing beads on him. First one droid, then a second fell, and a super battle droid partially melted under several direct hits to its head and torso.

It was then that he realized he was alone on the platform. His squad mates hadn't made it yet, and he could see at least a score of droids bearing down on him. A quick glance around revealed there wouldn't be any cover until he could fight his way off the platform.

That was when he heard the distinctive clatter of rolling machinery, quickly coming his way from the corridor that led into the fortress. Destroyer droids.

"Make it fast, Deltas!" he yelled into his helmet com.


	4. Chapter 4: Breaking and Entering

**Breaking And Entering:**

If there was any response from his comrades, 3-8 couldn't hear it over the shriek of blaster carbines. His arrival had further muddled the chaos on the platform, and the battle droids were struggling to decide on which targets they should attack – the one on the platform, or the ones coming up the stanchion lines. The super battle droids were a bit faster, and more than one confused battle droid was dropped by shots that were meant for Delta Squad's leader.

3-8 knew that only the confusion was keeping him from being burned away by a hail of fire, and the chaos was only going to last a few more seconds. The rumble of destroyer droids was drawing closer, and more and more droids were turning around to realized he was practically right next to them. Moving fast, he rolled a pair of EM grenades across the platform even while scrambling toward the trunk rising to his right. The grenades exploded just before rolling off the platform, and half a dozen of the foes jerked wildly before dropping. A super battle droid started tracking him as it stood in the partial cover of the corridor entrance, its wrist blasters blazing, and he tossed a thermal detonator in its direction as he dove to the platform surface. A pair of bolts scythed over his head, and then the explosive device blew up, taking out the super battle droid and several more battle droids.

Now only a single super battle droid and seven battle droids remained. 3-8 rose to one knee, drew a bead on the SBD, and squeezed the trigger. His carbine spat one bolt, then clicked. As the enemy raised its wrist blasters toward him, he belatedly realized that his power pack was dry. There was no way he'd be able to change it in time.

That was when 6-2 slipped up onto the platform directly behind the SBD, and his vibroblade glittered with deadly light as it extended from his wrist guard. He rammed it into the base of the droid's skull, then twisted. It jerked for a moment and fired blindly into the air, then dropped as blue-green hydraulic fluid sprayed from the severed lines in its neck. The commando didn't pause to bring his carbine to bear, but instead slashed his way through the remaining battle droids, striking at their vulnerable spots with the ease of experience. One by one they dropped, and by the time he reached the last one, 3-8 had burned it from existence.

3-8 nodded to Scorch, who threw a mock salute and then trained his carbine on the corridor leading into the heart of the fortress.

"Fixer, where are you?" 3-8 commed. "Get up here! Those destroyer droids will be here any moment!"

"Uh, Boss?" came the sheepish reply. "I'm uh… kinda stuck down here."

3-8 glanced over the edge of the platform and saw 4-0 struggling with his stanchion line, directly below where he'd just come up himself. He muttered a vehement curse. Of all the times for an equipment failure, this was without doubt the worst.

The shriek of heavy blasters made him whirl back around, bringing his carbine up. 6-2 was still standing in front of the corridor, weapon ready. "Scorch, what's going on?"

"They're trying to blast their way through the rubble from your last detonator," the other commando reported. "I count at least three. Better hurry; it's not going to take them long!"

"See if you can hold them off! I'm doing down to help Fixer!"

"Copy!"

3-8 looked back down to 4-0. "Hold on tight. I'm coming down!" 4-0 nodded, as his leader made a short leap off the platform and grabbed hold of his line. Using his boots to control his speed, he slid down to wear the other commando was stuck. "I see the problem," he said almost immediately. "There's a cut in your line; one of the snipers almost got lucky. We're going to have to go up by hand."

Suddenly, the whole fortress seemed to shake, and the thunderous roar of an explosion temporarily deafened them. Smoke and fire blossomed from the corridor as 6-2 scrambled back to his feet and opened up with his carbine.

"They're coming through, Boss! We're out of –"

Whatever else he said was drowned out by the cacophony of multiple heavy blasters switching over to rapid fire mode. 6-2 quickly fell back to his right, toward the line where 4-0 was stranded. He lobbed another grenade down the corridor, but the destroyers already had their shields up, and it barely slowed them.

3-8 couldn't tell exactly what was going on, but he could see literally dozens of crimson bolts flying over the edge of the platform and streaking off into the forest, setting branches and leaved on fire. He took a quick look around, and his hopes rose as he spotted another platform, below and to the right of the one they were currently trying to reach. He hadn't seen it before, as it was cleverly disguised with camouflage nets that had to be of Wookie design. He looked down at 4-0. "Hold on!"

"What?"

"Hold on! We'll be leaving in a few moments."

Fixer just shook his head in confusion, but he gripped his stanchion gun tightly with both hands.

3-8 glanced up toward where his own stanchion gun was still dangling, its hooks embedded in the solid trunk. He could get it out again… if someone was actually holding onto it.

"Boss?" came Scorch's voice through his helmet com. "It's getting kind of hot up here! I could use a hand!"

"Negative!" 3-8 said back. "It's time for a change of plan. I want you to use my stanchion gun to get back down here. And make sure to leave a parting gift for those droids."

"Copy that." Scorch reached for one of the detonators on his belt even as he started running toward the edge of the platform where 3-8's stanchion gun dangled. He thumbed the timer to 20 seconds, then tapped the activation switch and tossed the explosive toward the corridor. Then he broke into an all out run, slinging his carbine over his shoulder, before taking a quick jump off the edge of the platform to grab onto the stanchion gun. He hadn't even stopped swinging before he tapped the descent controls and switched it to its fastest speed.

3-8 reached out with one hand and pulled him in by his ammo belt. "All right, hold onto me tightly." He took hold of the gun as Scorch got a good grip on him, even as Fixer did the same. He hit the release button, and the stanchion ejected itself from the tree trunk and fell as the gun quickly started to reel the cable back in.

"Uh, eight seconds, Boss," Scorch informed him.

3-8 muttered another curse as the cable reeled in. Above them, the clatter of metal on wood announced that the destroyer droids had figured out where the clones had gone. Five seconds.

The stanchion gun beeped as the cable was pulled all the way in, ready for another shot. 3-8 aimed for a branch that jutted out above the platform below, and even as he fired the stanchion again, he realized he hadn't reset the distance. Three seconds. No time to readjust now.

The stanchion hit the branch with a _thunk_. Above the commandos, a trio of destroyer droids leaned over the edge and took aim.

"Cut Fixer's line, Scorch!" 3-8 commanded.

6-2's vibroblade flashed out…

And the detonator exploded. Fire filled the corridor and blossomed into the open. The shockwave took out a massive portion of the tree, including the entire platform, and turned it into splinters of wood. The destroyer droids were pulverized into metal fragments and flung over the side. Ten meters below, the commandos were caught in the shower of debris, smoke and fire, dropping quickly as the line the Fixer had been attached to snapped. They held on desperately as 3-8's cable carried them down and over toward the lower platform with alarming speed.

"Hold on!" 3-8 managed to get out before they slammed down with the clatter of protesting armor and loose weapons.

They rolled for a few meters before sliding to a stop, laying still for a moment as they tried to regain their sense of balance and direction. Then they slowly got to their feet, bringing their carbines up as the swept the platform for enemies. There didn't appear to be any yet.

"One of your special toys, Scorch?" 3-8 asked as he pulled a foot long splinter from where it had embedded itself in Fixer's backplate.

"Class C thermal detonator," Scorch replied proudly. "Not as visually appealing as a Class A, but amusing nonetheless."

"Thanks for the warning," Fixer muttered sourly.

"Right, let's get moving," 3-8 interjected. "It's only a matter of time before the droids figure out where we're at. I want to be well on our way out of this place before they catch up." He brought his carbine up as he started toward the small opening that led into the fortress' interior corridors. "And then we'll get to see how visually appealing your Class A is."


	5. Chapter 5: Infiltration

**Author's Notes: **Thanks to everyone who has offered comments and suggestions on this work so far. I appreciate the time and effort it takes to make a comment. I hope you all enjoy the next portion of the story.

**Infiltration:**

As the three commandos advanced down the corridor that led off the platform into the depths of the tree fortress, they found that it was deserted. Whatever sentries had originally been placed there had been shifted to counter the threat of their forced entry. Whether they were now destroyed, or merely keeping watch someplace else was not certain.

But 3-8 knew better than to question their good fortune, so he was pleased either way. Delta Squad could not afford more pitched fighting. The brawl on the platform had already cost them the element of surprise, not to mention valuable time; they were almost ten minutes behind schedule. If they didn't hurry up and deactivate the signals controlling the anti-air platforms in the area, Republic forces attempting to rendezvous there were going to meet some nasty surprises.

Sighting down the barrel of his DC-17M, he scanned the corridor ahead of them carefully. It was largely dark, bathed in shadows and lit only by what little sunlight filtered in through the opening behind them. The walls were lined with torches set in sconces – the preferred lighting method of the Wookies, apparently – but the battle droids that had taken over the fortress didn't need them. Their night vision ability rendered torches useless. Fortunately, Delta Squad didn't need them either; the mechanized Separatist forces weren't the only ones that could see in the dark.

3-8 turned on his helmet's night vision mode, and the details of the corridor ahead sprang into being. They were still a bit fuzzy, but he could see well enough to tell that there were no immediate threats ahead.

"Clear," he said softly. "Let's keep moving."

They picked up the pace, moving with surprising stealth despite their bulky armor and the number of weapons they carried. 3-8 stayed on point, while 6-2 was behind and a bit to his left. 4-0 watched their backs, giving most of his attention to the half-circle of light behind them that slowly shrank as they advanced deeper and deeper into the bowels of the fortress.

3-8 held up a fist as an opening loomed on his right, less than ten meters ahead. "Hold on," he said softly into his com. "Looks like this tunnel's about to end. Stack up."

Scorch shifted to his right, directly behind his commander, and Fixer caught up with the two of them and lined up directly behind Scorch.

"Stacked, Boss," Fixer whispered.

3-8 lowered his fist, and started advancing again, with his two companions right behind him. This formation was one they'd used hundreds of times before. It usually worked best when they were trying to enter a compartment that was sealed off with a door, but it worked well enough in situations like this, as well. When they were "stacked" – lined up in single file – it ensured that any enemies coming out of the opening would only have one target to shoot at, while all Scorch and Fixer would have to do to get a clear shot would be to lean a bit to the left or right. It left 3-8 vulnerable, but his armor could take several hits before he went down. If nothing exposed itself before they entered the next chamber, 3-8 would take the point, while Scorch and Fixer would fan out behind him, to the left and right, covering the entire area with overlapping fields of fire.

They carefully approached the opening, hugging the wall of the corridor with their carbines trained ahead of them. The fortress seemed deathly silent, and the darkness around them took on an ominous, oppressive feeling.

"Nothing on motion sensors," 3-8 informed the other two quietly, his eyes on the readouts that flickered and shimmered on the heads-up display that was holographically overlaid onto the inside of his helmet's visor. "Either nothing's in there, or they're being very still." He glanced over his shoulder. "Standard entry procedure. Ready?"

4-0 and 6-2 nodded back.

"Go!" 3-8 commanded.

He stepped around the corner and moved quickly into the chamber, his carbine sweeping an eighty degree arc in front of him. Scorch was right behind him, sidestepping to the left. He also covered eighty degrees, but was watching the left flank. Fixer went right, his weapon up and ready as his eyes scanned the gray-white representation of the chamber on his HUD.

"Clear," Scorch reported.

"Green here, Boss," Fixer added.

"Looks like they still don't know where we are," 3-8 replied as he completed the sweep of his sector. He tapped some commands into the pad on his wrist guard, and a display of the chambers and corridors that his sensors had been able to map popped up on one corner of his HUD. "There aren't any rooms down here big enough to house the kind of equipment they would need to broadcast commands to the anti-air platforms," he said after a moment. "We'll need to go up."

"That's odd," Scorch said. "My sensors indicate that there are levels above us, accessible from this chamber. But they don't indicate any sort of ramps, stairs, or elevators."

3-8 took a careful look around, but his night vision didn't give him much range on his field of sight. "Fixer, give us a little bit of light, just enough for a quick glance toward one of those access points."

Fixer flashed his helmet lights for a brief second, toward the right side of the chamber. "Ladders," he reported. "They aren't showing up on the scans."

"Ladders?" Scorch echoed. "Who uses _ladders_ these days?"

3-8 chuckled as he headed for the ladder Fixer's lights had illuminated. "The Wookies know their technology," he replied, "but they always go for the simple solution when they can. Give me some cover here." He slung his carbine over his shoulder, then started up the ladder while his companions took up positions on either side of him and trained their sights on the small opening above. 3-8 only hoped that something wasn't up there, waiting to drop a grenade over the edge.

But he reached the top of the ladder only moments later, and nothing showed itself. He unslung his carbine, and made sure that it came over the top first. He stuck his head up just far enough to see over the lip of the opening. "Clear. Looks like a service corridor," he reported. "It's barely big enough for a Wookie, and there's some power conduits up here. We should be able to follow this tunnel to the upper levels; if my hunch is correct, that's where the signal relay station for the platforms will be." He pulled himself up into the passageway, then motioned for the others to follow him up.

Fixer covered the chamber while Scorch hurried up the ladder, then Scorch turned and made sure nothing attacked Fixer while he made his ascent. Fixer pulled the ladder up behind him.

"If they find out we're in here," he explained, "they'll have to go around. Unless they've decided to install hover thrusters on battle droids."

"Not likely," 3-8 laughed quietly. "Good thinking. Come on."

He led them down the corridor at a fast pace. There were no side passages for a long distance; if there was an enemy, the could only come from ahead, and the sooner the commandos met them, the better. The Separatists were aware that Republic soldiers were in the fortress, so 3-8 knew that speed was one of their few remaining advantages.

The passage was low enough that they had to stoop a bit in order to keep their helmets from scrapping on the ceiling, and narrow enough that they could barely pass one another. It would have been exceptionally tight quarters for a Wookie. On the bright side, it would have been hard for destroyer droids or super battle droids to maneuver in either. It sloped steeply upward ahead of them, gradually winding to the left, circling around the mighty tree trunk just a few meters beneath its surface. Occasionally, it would give way into a bridge that led across tall, wide chambers, but all of them were deserted.

"Probably guarding the relay station," 3-8 mused quietly. "We're going to have ourselves a bit of a fight."

"Good, 'cause all these ammo clips are getting heavy," Scorch piped.

"Why don't we just set the detonator here?" Fixer asked. "We can't be that far away from the relay station."

"True," 3-8 replied, "but the wood of these worshyr trees is harder than a lot metals. Not to mention the fact that one reason Class A detonators are so powerful is because of the secondary explosions they cause. There aren't a whole lot of electronics or other explosive materials in this fortress. A detonator placed here _might_ do what we need it to, but we run the risk of merely damaging the relay equipment. We need to make sure it's destroyed completely, so the Separatists can't repair it before the battle's over. We'll need to get a lot closer before we can set it."

They continued to move up the service corridor, advancing as quickly as they dared. Several minutes later, it took a sharp turn to the left; light spilled around the corner, too bright to be daylight.

3-8 held his hand up. "They've set up some artificial lighting out there," he said. "We must be getting close. Hold up here, I'm going to take a look."

The other two held their positions while 3-8 advanced to the corner. He switched off his night vision, then carefully stuck his head around the bend. Less than five meters away, the service tunnel ended abruptly, joining what appeared to be a much larger passageway that ran perpendicular to the one that he was in now. The hulk of a super battle droid stood directly in front of the opening, its back turned to him, and beyond it, several silhouettes moved back and forth in front of banks of bright white lights. He cursed quietly to himself. They were going to have a hard time getting out of this tunnel, let alone the chamber beyond it.

He leaned back against the wall, thinking. A few EMP grenades could clear an initial opening for them, but as soon as they cleared the tunnel, they'd be square in the sights of any droids that had survived the grenades. And who knew what else…

His thoughts were interrupted as something shifted behind him, nearly making him lose his balance. He straightened and turned around quickly. He switched his night vision back on, but the wall looked just it had before. There were no markings or indentations, nothing to distinguish it from any other portion of the tunnel wall; it was just smooth wood. Then what –

"Uh, Boss?" came Fixer's voice through his comm. "You… might want to come take a look at this."

3-8 hurried back to the other two. "What is it?" he asked.

"Turn your night vision off," Scorch said, "and turn your lights on."

3-8 did so, then followed Scorch's gaze as he pointed to the left. All he saw was the wall

"Now turn your night vision back on," Fixer prompted.

Puzzled, 3-8 complied. "Well, well," he muttered to himself. Viewed through night vision, the portion of the tunnel wall that Scorch had indicated shimmered and flickered, glowing a bit brighter than the rest of the corridor. He reached out toward it, and his gloved hand passed through it. "It's a hologram."

"It activated just a few moments after you went ahead," Fixer explained. "I wouldn't have seen it, except I tried to lean against the wall and almost fell through."

"I think I accidentally tripped the activating mechanism," 3-8 put in. "Let's see what's on the other side." He slung his carbine over his shoulder. "Grab onto my shoulder plates, just in case. I'm going to take a look."

The other two commandos took a firm hold of each of his shoulder plates, then he leaned forward just a bit, until his head passed through the holographic wall and to the other side. He was suddenly glad that his companions were holding onto him.

He was looking out at a huge vertical shaft. It extended above and below him for at least several hundred meters in either direction, so far that he couldn't see the top or bottom. He switched on his lights, and still couldn't find the end of it. To his right, he could see the portion of the real wall that had swung aside when he tripped the activating mechanism; it had pivoted out of the way on cleverly hidden hinges. The hologram must have activated just before it moved.

Hanging down the middle of the shaft, some three or four meters away, were half a dozen rope-like vines, swinging gently in the soft breeze that blew from somewhere overhead. Battle droids couldn't climb those, but Wookies wouldn't have had a problem. Clone commandos might be able to use them too.

He smiled grimly to himself. "Deltas, I think we just found the back door."


	6. Chapter 6: Visual Appeal

**Author's Notes: **First of all, I apologize for not getting this chapter out sooner. This last week proved to be more than a bit crazy. Secondly, this chapter's a bit longer than the previous ones, but I hope you enjoy it. Please feel free to comment on it, as well as on any previous chapters.

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**Visual Appeal:**

"Right, there's a vine directly ahead of us, approximately 3.3 meters out," 3-8 explained to the other two. "You can't see through the hologram, so you'd better make sure your aim isn't off, because you won't have any time to correct." He paused for emphasis. "It's a long way down."

"Why is it that the structures we have to infiltrate always have massive holes, shafts, or drops that we have to get around?" Scorch asked wryly.

"I think it's one of the downfalls of today's architectural design philosophy," Fixer said seriously.

6-2 sighed. "No more puns out of you," he muttered. "Puns are secured."

"I'll go first," 3-8 interrupted. "Give me a few seconds to get out of the way before you follow. Once we're all through, we can each switch to a separate vine, to make sure we're not putting too much weight on just one of them."

The other two commandos stepped out of the way, giving 3-8 some room. There wasn't much space to build up any sort of momentum. He could only hope that he could get the right footing at the right spot to launch himself across the gulf of open space. He hadn't been exaggerating when he told his comrades to be careful; there would be no margin for error. Before he could think about it any more, he lunged forward, ducking his head as he leapt through the hologram and the opening it concealed, and out into the shaft.

For a long moment, he felt like he was simply hovering in midair, and the darkness of the seemingly bottomless shaft loomed large beneath him. But then he saw the vine rushing toward him, and he grabbed onto it with both hands as his flight started to take a downward arc. He slid down a meter or so, and he was glad he was wearing gloves as he brought his heavily armored body to a stop. He only had a few seconds before one of his companions made the jump, so he quickly pulled himself higher on the vine, until he was well above the opening in the service tunnel.

Even as he glanced downward, Scorch materialized on this side of the hologram. He had managed to get more power behind his jump, and almost passed the vine before grabbing onto it. 3-8 held on tightly as the vine jerked and bounced with the sudden, added weight. A few moments later, Fixer brought up the rear.

"Pick a vine," 3-8 said quietly. His helmet comm was set so that only the receivers in the other two soldiers' helmets could pick it up, but he knew that even the slightest sound would echo in this shaft. That included a crackle of static from a receiver.

Scorch and Fixer each reached out and pulled themselves over to another vine.

"All set, Boss," Fixer reported.

"All right, let's move. Those drop ships will be coming in before long."

They started climbing hand over hand up the vines. A normal human would have found it to be grueling work, but the clones had been put through countless hours of strength and conditioning training. Their bulky armor and weapons made the ascent less than graceful, but they proceeded with speed and quiet efficiency.

A few minutes later, the top of the shaft materialized out of the darkness. A platform reached out from a dark tunnel opening toward the vines. All they would have to do was climb from vine to vine until they reached it.

"I'm picking up some massive energy signatures," 3-8 said, examining his HUD as he climbed. "The control center for those anti-aircraft platforms isn't far from the top of this shaft."

"Whoa, hold on, Boss," Scorch interjected quickly.

"What is it?"

"Thought I just saw something on motion sensors," he reported. He was silent for a moment. "I don't see it now. Might have just been a ghost."

"Keep your eyes on those sensors," 3-8 ordered. "We can't stop now. We're too vulnerable hanging out here like this."

The commandos continued up the vines, moving as quickly as they could without making any noise. They were less than three meters below the platform when all hell broke loose.

A battle droid poked its head over the edge above them, possibly investigating something it had picked up on its own motion sensors. Like the commandos, it could see in the dark, and it had no trouble spotting Delta Squad immediately. "Uh-oh," it warbled, bringing its blaster up.

"Frag him!" 3-8 ordered as he abandoned all pretense of stealth and doubled his speed up the vine.

Scorch was already in the process of lobbing an EMP grenade up onto the platform, and Fixer's arced up right behind the first. The droid only had time to get one shot off, and it went wide into the far side of the shaft behind the clones. Lightning crackled and flashed, sending the droid and some of its companions tumbling into the darkness below.

3-8 pulled himself up onto the platform, carbine ready. The din of electronic shouts and the clatter of metallic feet told him that their arrival was no longer unnoticed. He squeezed the trigger and sent a hail of blue energy down the narrow corridor that led off the platform deeper into the heart of the tree, and was rewarded with a dismayed squawk and a dull thud as a droid went down. Behind him, 6-2 and 4-0 slipped up onto the platform, carbines already unslung and ready for action.

"Those transmitters are directly ahead of us!" 3-8 shouted. "I'm on point! Cover my flanks!"

"Right behind you, Boss!" Fixer confirmed.

3-8 rolled another EMP grenade down the tunnel, then charged in after it. The device exploded only a few meters in front of him. Energy crackled and played across his armor's shielding, and his HUD went blurry for a second, but when it cleared, he was stepping over the twitching remains of half a dozen battle droids and a super battle droid. An alarm chirped in his ear as a crimson bolt hit him in the left shoulder plate; his shielding absorbed the blast, but it was enough to get his attention. He turned to his left and coolly drew a bead on the droid that had gotten off the lucky shot.

"Oh, no," the droid lamented, just before a well-placed shot blew its head away.

With 3-8 in the lead, Delta Squad pushed out of the narrow tunnel and into a huge chamber that opened up to the sky overhead. In the center of the vast room, huge generators rose from the wooden floor, one level below them. Massive cables connected them to expansive antenna and dish arrays in the branches over head. Catwalks and platforms ringed the area; most of them were swarming with droids. And all of them were turning to face the threat.

"This is it!" 3-8 confirmed. "Scorch, you know what to do! Fixer, let's make some noise and give him some cover!"

"Yeehaw!" Fixer exclaimed. "It's about time!"

3-8 went right, while Fixer went left, both of them blazing away at any targets that were foolish enough to expose themselves. A firestorm of crimson lasers slashed back at them, but the shots were hasty and confused. Only a handful of them came close to either of them. Meanwhile Scorch vaulted over the railing of the catwalk the tunnel had opened up on, and landed on the main floor below. He calmly burned away a super battle droid as it tried to flank him, then darted toward one of the generators. Despite their near panic, the droids knew better than to shoot at the generators, and instead sent some of their numbers in to chase him down.

As 3-8 took quick stock of the situation, he realized that their position couldn't have been much better. Despite the sentry in the shaft, the Separatist forces had had no warning that Delta Squad was so close to the generators. He could see a pair of destroyer droids, but they had been placed to guard the main entrance into the open-roofed chamber, and they were still maneuvering to find better firing positions. 6-2 would be done placing his charges and on his way back to his squad mates by then.

The only units that posed any real threat were the super battle droids. It took almost a full power clip to put one of them down, thanks to their armor, and 3-8 hissed in frustration as he had to reload yet again. Fortunately, the mechanical brutes didn't dare use their arm-mounted rocket launchers for fear of hitting the generators.

Delta Squad had no such problems. Fixer's shout of triumph echoed through their comms as one of his thermal detonators fragged a destroyer droid and the half dozen battle droids that were trying to fire from the cover of the entrance.

Movement to 3-8's right caught his eye, and he glanced up to see another destroyer droid roll out of a side passage onto the catwalk. It promptly started laying down fire in his direction. He fired a burst in return, but the droid already had its shields up.

"Scorch, what's your status?" he demanded as he shifted left to stay out of the destroyer's line of fire.

"I could use some cover here, Boss," came the reply.

3-8's new position bought him a moment's respite from the destroyer droid's barrage, so he risked a glance down toward the generators. At least twenty battle droids were clustered between them on the nearest side, taking potshots at something he couldn't see. It had to be Scorch.

"Fixer!" he yelled, pointing down at the targets. "Let's give him a hand!"

Fixer nodded, and both of them switched their carbine to full auto, raking the clustered droids with a firestorm of cerulean light. One by one, the droids sprayed sparks and fell; some of them exploded, and one simply melted from the legs up as its internal power sources failed and overloaded.

"About time," Scorch muttered. "I think my armor's going to need a new paint job when we get back to Coruscant."

3-8 was in the middle of reloading when the newly arrived destroyer droid found another good firing position and opened up on him again. He dropped to his stomach on the deck of the catwalk, cursing as the power clip skittered out of his hand. "Just make it fast!"

"I'm already done," Scorch responded. "Give me a second to blast a path out of here!"

3-8 gritted his teeth and reached for the power pack. A pair of crimson bolts slashed past him, so close they left scorch marks on his forearm's armor plate. His fingers closed around the ammo, and he slammed it home into his carbine. He rolled to his right, barely avoiding another shot from the destroyer, then pumped the entire clip into the machine. Its shields shimmered and died, and the last handful of shots blew it to pieces.

Something grabbed him from behind and hauled him to his feet. He started to struggle, reaching for the combat knife sheathed on his ammo belt.

"Hey, easy there, Boss," Scorch said. He shrugged as 3-8 looked at him in surprise. "You said make it fast."

"Good work," 3-8 replied nonchalantly. "Fixer?"

"Ready to go, Boss!"

"Then let's get out of here!"

They turned just long enough to lob another trio of grenades into the chamber, then retreated back toward the shaft they'd just come from.

"How long did you give us, Scorch?" 3-8 asked.

"Two minutes. Any longer than that, and they might find a way to disarm it before it goes off."

"Right then. We'll take the shaft all the way down. We've got to be well away from this fortress when that thing goes." They reached the platform above the shaft, and 3-8 took a quick look over the edge. "It's still clear. We'll have to slide down, and fast. Hope you've got a good grip." He slung his carbine over his shoulder, then leaped off the platform onto one of the vines.

To either side of him, Scorch and Fixer did the same. Then they were sliding down the vines, using their boots as brakes when needed, and holding onto the vines with their hands just hard enough to keep from falling off. They quickly accelerated, leaving the platform behind. A few of the battle droids fired after them, but the shots didn't come close. One of them tried to follow the clone troopers down, but it lost its hold on the vine after only a second, and fell past them to smash into the ground hundreds of meters below.

Almost a full minute of near free fall later, the ground came rushing up at them with alarming speed. 3-8 clenched his boots tighter around the vine, gradually slowing his downward momentum. He still hit hard, and had to tuck his shoulder into a roll to avoid breaking any bones. Scorch and Fixer rolled out next to him, and then they were struggling to their feet and running for the entrance 3-8 had suspected would be there. It was on the ground level, at least four hundred meters below where they'd been, and was nearly hidden from the outside by tall, fern-like plants.

"Head west," 3-8 said as they burst through the plants and ran as hard as they could away from the towering fortress. "We need to rendezvous with Battalion Six!"

"Thirty seconds, Boss!" Scorch reported.

3-8 glanced over his shoulder as they ran. They were already putting a good deal of distance between themselves and the fortress, but when a structure that big was taken down by a Class A thermal detonator, distance didn't necessarily mean a whole lot.

"Droids, coming from the right!" Fixer warned, and opened up with his carbine.

A hover sled, manned by half a dozen droids, was racing toward them. Mounted on the back – and swinging toward them – was a heavy repeater blaster.

"Down!" 3-8 shouted.

The clones dove for cover just as a burst of red light shot over their heads. Fixer returned fire again, and one of the droids toppled from the sled.

"They've got us pinned down!" Scorch said.

"Then I guess now is a bad time to be in the open," 3-8 replied. "Stay down! It's about to get hot out here!"

Behind them, the fortress exploded.

The uppermost chamber vanished in a flash of brilliant white light, sending shards of wood and metal flying in all directions. Secondary explosions followed hard on the heels of the first as the generators and other equipment started to disintegrate. Then another explosion, even larger than the first, erupted about halfway down the mighty trunk.

3-8 looked up just long enough to see the rain of deadly debris falling toward them, and then he pulled himself into a shallow depression in the ground, covering his head with his arms. The hail of wood and metal and burning machinery continued for almost a minute, and when it stopped, he was almost afraid of what he might see.

He poked his head up carefully. 4-0 was less than a meter away, moving rather sluggishly and rubbing his helmet where a piece of wood had left a sizable dent, but otherwise seemed all right. 6-2 was already standing and looking back at the fortress, making a sound that sounded suspiciously like chuckling. The droids hadn't fared too well. They were scattered lifelessly all about their hover sled, which had been skewered by a massive spear of wood.

He pushed himself to his feet, helping Fixer up as well. Then he joined Scorch, surveying the remains of the fortress. There wasn't much of it left. The huge trunk had been sheared off a hundred meters up, and the jagged rim was burning fiercely while black smoke streamed skyward from dozens of entrances and windows, rising in a massive plume high into the sky.

Scorch sighed.

"What is it, Scorch?" 3-8 asked.

"It's beautiful," he replied. "Absolutely beautiful."


	7. Chapter 7: Need To Know

**Author's Notes: **Thanks to everyone for their patience in waiting for this chapter to come out, and thanks for the comments on the last chapter. I found them to be quite helpful, and have attempted to revise those problems for future chapters. On the same note, I had some difficulty putting this chapter together; it felt like I was working with pieces of a puzzle, rather than the random junk I usually pull out of my mind. Naturally, this was in part because the plotline of this chapter is now intersecting with part of the plot from Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, so I wanted to get it as correct as possible. With that in mind, all you diehards out there that are just dying to criticize some part of this chapter or the story as a whole… please do. After all, the objective isn't to get it done, it's to get it done right.

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**Need-To-Know:**

Less than two minutes after Delta Squad left the destroyed fortress behind, the roar of at least a dozen Republic drop ships filled the air, passing overhead and then fading away as they descended into the forest to deploy their soldiers and light armor. As expected, no anti-aircraft fire rose to meet them. Despite the sense of satisfaction over a job well done, 3-8 resisted the urge to contact the drop ships. There was no need for the pilots to know that Delta Squad was in the area; it would be better for the commandos if they maintained comm silence. The immediate vicinity seemed clear, but he could already hear the thunder of what could only be a large scale battle taking place a few klicks ahead, due west. They hurried toward it, eager to reach Battalion Six and rejoin the fight.

Suddenly, just as 3-8 estimated they were still at least two klicks out from the battle site, his receivers crackled in his ear. "Unknown clone units, this is Battalion Three command. State your identity and your purpose in this region."

3-8 nodded to himself in satisfaction. Someone was keeping a close eye on their surroundings with the use of some powerful sensor equipment. "This is Delta 3-8," he responded. "I'm in command of Delta Squad. We've been ordered to rendezvous at your coordinates with Battalion Six."

"Delta 3-8, I do not have your ID tags on my sensors. I have no way to confirm your identity. Please hold position until I can verify."

3-8 waved a hand at 6-2 and 4-0, motioning for them to keep moving. "We're a commando unit, B3 command," he said curtly. "We don't carry ID tags. Standby for confirmation via burst transmission."

"Acknowledged, standing by."

3-8 tapped a button on the pad on his wrist guard that had been installed for just this purpose, sending a pre-coded transmission that would allow regular clone soldiers just enough access to the central Republic military computer systems to verify that Delta Squad was, indeed, who they said they were.

The reply came back a moment later. "Identity and standing orders confirmed, Delta Squad. Be aware that Battalion Six is currently engaged in heavy fighting with Separatist forces in terrain quadrants three and four. You are advised to rendezvous with Jedi Master Yoda, who is currently directing B6. I'm uploading his coordinates to your HUD now."

"Copy that, B3 command. Delta 3-8, out."

"Whoa, did I hear that right?" Scorch asked as 3-8 terminated the transmission. "They never told us that they'd be sending Jedi along on this one. This whole mess must be bigger than we were told."

"It usually is," Fixer put in somberly as they continued jogging along the forest floor. "This isn't the first time they haven't told us everything, you know."

"Need-to-know basis," 3-8 said as a flashing green icon appeared on his HUD, indicating Master Yoda's position. "Right now, all we need to know is that our chain of command just got a lot heavier."

They continued through the thick undergrowth on the forest's floor, but as they went, the trees gradually became shorter, and the dense vines, ferns, and other plant life began to thin out. The reason soon became apparent as they spotted the glittering waters of a lake through the trees – and the flash of blaster fire.

"Keep your eyes open," 3-8 cautioned. "My scanners are picking up Geonosian bio signs. They'll be harder to spot than droids would be."

As they got closer and closer to the battle that raged below, they brought their DC-17Ms back up, scanning the terrain in front of them using their scopes to make sure it was clear before they advanced. They kept an eye behind them as well, just in case. Finally, they were nearly out of the trees. Below them, rising at the edge of the forest just before the ferns and grasses ran into the sand on the beach of the lake, one last heavily fortified tower in the trees could be easily seen. A mobile command post was hovering a few meters above the ground at its trunk, surrounded by snipers who were busily picking off any Separatist units that looked like they wanted to take potshots at it. A drop ship was even now lifting off from a nearby open area on the beach, having unloaded its compliment of fully armed and armored clone troopers. A flurry of anti-aircraft fire followed it up, but it casually spun around and lumbered across the lake, raining down a firestorm of concussion missiles and green lasers, cutting a swath of deadly fire and water through the Separatist forces.

"Master Yoda's in that tower," 3-8 said. "We're –" He paused as an alarm chimed in his ear, and a red warning flashed across his screen. _PRIORITY ONE ALERT. ACCEPT IMMEDIATELY._ "Hold on a moment."

"I'm getting it too," Scorch said. "You know what this means?"

"Chancellor Palpatine himself," Fixer put in as he accepted the alert through his HUD interface.

3-8 watched carefully as a visual message window opened up on his HUD. The Republic crest rotated for a moment on a screen of black, then was suddenly replaced with the visage of a hooded, shadowed face that vaguely looked like Palpatine. But his eyes were different… They were yellow, almost like they were glowing. The voice that spoke in his ear was definitely Palpatine's, but it was sinister somehow, and slightly slurred. It made him shudder. And the words he heard made ice run up and down his spine.

_"All units… initiate order 66."_

"Right away, sir," 3-8 said automatically, completely forgetting the fact that it was a one-way transmission and that Palpatine could neither see nor hear him.

Then the screen disappeared, leaving him alone with his thoughts, and the suddenly bland lights and readouts of his HUD. This had to be a mistake. But no… he'd heard the words clearly. Order 66. Every clone had that order file implanted in their memories; they all knew what it meant. But it was supposed to be a precautionary measure, a last ditch backup plan for a hypothetical scenario, one that every clone in his right mind knew could never happen. He could almost see the file on his displays know, as he'd seen it on the screen when it had been first implanted, the first file he'd received after medical had designated him as a candidate for clone commando programming.

FILE SIX-SIX OMEGA: JEDI UNITS ARE ATTEMPTING TO OVERTHROW GOVERNMENT AUTHORITY AND OPERATIONS. ELIMINATE ALL JEDI WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE. CODE NAME: ORDER 66.

"Sir?" Fixer's words broke into his thoughts, and he shook himself, looking around blankly. 4-0 was staring back at him, as was 6-2. "Awaiting instructions, sir."

"You all right, Boss?" Scorch asked.

"You heard him," 3-8 replied somberly. "Order 66. Jedi Master Yoda isn't far from our position. He's our new objective."


	8. Chapter 8: Status Change

**Author's Notes: **First off, let me apologize for my long absence from in general, and for not updating this story recently, in particular. As I'm sure you can guess, Navy life is busy, and things rarely go as planned. My personal life and my writing time are no exception. However, COC is very much alive, and I have every intention of finishing it as soon as possible. In fact, with this, the 8th chapter, I've suddenly realized that I am a lot closer to finishing this story than I had thought not so long ago. A story's plot is always changing until you put it down on paper, and there were a lot of things I had originally planned for COC that have not been realized, and that is probably a good thing in the end. I can't say when Chapter 9 will come along, but I'm already planning for it, and will get it up as soon as I can. Thanks for your patience, and thanks for reading! Enjoy.

**Status Change:**

Delta Squad moved almost mechanically through the trees, still fluid and professional, nearly impossible to spot, but their minds weren't on their maneuvers. The shock of the order they'd just been given, and all of the horrific possibilities that order could lead to, had numbed them, reducing them to little more than automatons that moved to obey out of instinct.

3-8 didn't like it. Even as he knew he was going to carry out the order, he didn't like it. There was something wrong here, something that didn't feel right. Every clone had been programmed as soldiers, and any good soldier had instincts. And right now, his instincts were telling him that the variables in this equation didn't add up.

It didn't seem possible that the Jedi could be attempting to overthrow Chancellor Palpatine. By doing so, they were making an attack on the very Republic they'd spent a millennia defending and protecting with their lives. He'd had dealings with various Jedi off and on for his entire life, short though it had been. He knew that there were things they kept to themselves, secrets of the sort that all beings of power didn't speak about. The Jedi were no different. While they were careful not to treat non-Force users as lesser beings, he was aware that they made the distinction, if only subconsciously. He saw it in their eyes, read it in their body language. But never had he detected the sort of subterfuge that would be required in order to keep something of this magnitude hidden. He wasn't the best judge of people, especially Jedi, but still… _someone _would have caught on. Wouldn't they?

And why _now_? Why chose the middle of a galactic war to launch their coup? Wars bred confusion, and confusion created opportunity, but acting now guaranteed the Jedi they would have at least two enemies to face: the Republic _and_ the Separatists, rather than just the Republic itself, had they waited until the war was over. Or had they planned that the clone army would come to their side? It was rumored that the creation of the army had been ordered by a Jedi Master, but if that was what the Jedi had planned all along, Palpatine had beaten them to the draw. The clones had been programmed and raised to be loyal to the leader of the Republic, and right now, he was that leader.

It was clear where 3-8's loyalties had to lie, but the rest of it didn't make sense, and it bothered him. So much so, he realized blatantly, that he was allowing himself to be distracted from the task at hand. Silently berating himself, he brought his DC-17M up and started sweeping an arc of the forest ahead of him.

There were still no signs of life in front of them as they neared the southeastern edge of the battlefield, and the tower where Master Yoda was. That wasn't right. They were close enough to the command post that someone should have challenged them. They couldn't see the base of the tree anymore, or the soldiers that were stationed there – it was hidden by the trees and undergrowth as they descended out of the forest toward the lake – but the sentries should have seen Delta Squad's approach and sent a fire team out to get a visual on them just to be sure they were really who their transponders said they were. But there was no one.

"I don't like this." Scorch's voice broke into 3-8's thoughts just as he was about to say the same thing. "We should have seen someone by now."

"Think the command post got hit?" Fixer asked, and 3-8 was momentarily shocked to hear the _hopeful_ tone of his voice.

But then he understood why that outcome would be preferable. There could only be one _other_ explanation for the silence that greeted their rapid approach.

Moments later, as they burst out of the trees into the clearing that surrounded the command post and the massive tree-tower, their worst suspicions were confirmed.

Master Yoda, it seemed, was not as frail as he looked.

Troopers were everywhere, lying in twisted heaps of weapons, limbs, and armor. Some of the bodies were minus arms or legs, or heads, or even their other halves. Neatly sliced carbines still glowed red around their cut edges, armor still smoldered and smoked, and the acrid stench of concentrated blaster fire still hung in the air. Whatever else he was, Master Yoda was quick, and thorough. Of the two dozen clone soldiers that had manned this post, none were alive. They hadn't even slowed him down.

"Boss," Fixer said grimly over their helmet comms. "The Wookies helped him." He was standing over the body of a fallen trooper, sifting through fragments of shattered armor scattered on the ground nearby with the toe of his boot.

3-8 moved over for a closer look. 4-0 was right. Lightsabers left perfectly circular puncture marks or clean cuts. Even heavy blaster carbines didn't cause the damage suffered by at least half a dozen of the fallen soldiers. Only explosive quarrels from bowcasters could wreak this kind of destruction.

That only brought more questions, he realized. Were the Wookies in on the coup attempt with the Jedi? That didn't seem possible. They were fierce warriors, but they were not mindless primitives who did just anything they were told. They had fought valiantly alongside the clones on several occasions – and not only here on their home world – well aware of what could happen to them should the Separatists win the war. So if they had put so much effort into the Republic, why would they risk it all by throwing in their lot with the traitorous Jedi? It was more likely they were deceived. Or perhaps Yoda had taken control of the minds of some nearby Wookies, and made them help him escape. Too many questions, and no answers to be found, not here.

He shook himself and glanced at his HUD. As he'd expected, the green maker assigned to Master Yoda's location still indicated he was in the tree-tower. "No sense in going up there now," he voiced his thoughts aloud. "He's not there. He'll be trying to make a getaway. He caught these soldiers by surprise. The next ones will be ready. He knows he can't take all of us on."

"Where would he be trying to go?" Scorch mused.

"Off world," 3-8 supplied. "The whole planet's turning into a giant garrison for Republic forces. He'll be trying to get off Kashyyk as soon as possible. We need to figure out how he plans to do that _before_ he leaves the surface."

"He won't try to use any of our staging areas," Fixer put in. "Too many troopers, even for him."

"He'll use a Wookie ship," Scorch said, continuing their collective train of thought. "He already got some of them to help him. He'll get a ship from them too. Our forces in orbit might not even stop to search it, thinking it still belongs to the Wookies. He'll slip right through our grasp."

"We need to move out," 3-8 finished firmly, feeling the same sense of urgency that his companions felt. "_Now._"

"Which way?" Fixer queried.

3-8 glanced around quickly, and found what he was looking for. The body of a clone trooper, separated a bit from the rest, further to the south, away from the lake and the battle that was still raging on and around it. The hapless soldier had to have known he was outmatched, but he'd moved to intercept the fleeing Jedi Master and his Wookie cohorts anyway. At least his death had been quick; he'd probably never realized that his head had been separated from his shoulders, had probably been dead before the lightsaber had even finished its cut. Regardless, his death had not been in vain. His ill-fated courage had given Delta Squad all it needed to continue the hunt.

"South," 3-8 commanded without hesitation. "They went south."

They immediately fell into the formation they often used for heavily wooded wilderness areas, a slightly spread "v", and started south at a near jog. They kept their carbines up and ready, senses alert for any sign of Master Yoda or any ambushes he might have left behind for pursuers. But 3-8 had the sinking feeling that they were already too late. The Jedi was small and nimble, and his Wookie companions were intimately familiar with these forests; they were experts at concealing their trail. They could be anywhere by now. How were they –

"Got something on motion sensors!" Fixer exclaimed quietly but urgently. "Two points to our right, looked like it was headed south." He hissed in frustration. "I can't get a good read on it. Too much interference from all this plant life."

But then 3-8 caught a flicker on his own motion sensors. It was only there for a moment, but the image in his HUD was burned in his memory. Three red dots, headed south. Two of them were bigger than the third, which was leading the way. "That's them," he said confidently. "We're only a few hundred meters behind them!"

They shifted to match their prey's course, and sped up, now certain that they were going in the right direction. The commandos gained steadily – their rigorous physical training had prepared them well for just such a purpose – but nevertheless, it would be several minutes before they could get a clean shot at their target.

_And is that even what we want? _3-8 wondered. _A clean shot at him? There's no such thing as a "clean shot" at a Jedi, is there? We'll have to figure something else out._ _Explosives might do the trick. Lots of them. All at once._

But then suddenly, the red dots appeared on his HUD's motion sensor readout again, and they weren't moving anymore. They were right in front of them, less than fifty meters away. He held up a fist and slid to a halt; Fixer and Scorch stopped in their tracks, taking up positions behind massive worshyr trunks, carbines aimed south.

"They've stopped," 3-8 explained. "They're right ahead of us."

"I've got something else," Scorch added. "It could be a ship, but it's small. I doubt our forces in orbit would even see it."

"If we're going to stop him, it has to be now," Fixer said. "We can't let him get off the ground."

3-8 wished they had more time to plan, more time to come up with a strategy that would give them the best chance of success. But he wasn't sure that you could have a good chance of success against a Jedi, and there wasn't time anyway. "Right, Fixer, Scorch, ready some thermal detonators. When we get a visual, toss them. While he's busy getting clear of them, I'll take him down with my carbine." Even as he gave them the orders, he was reconfiguring his DC-17M for sniper mode. "We'll only have one chance at this, and our timing will have to be perfect." He glanced at his two companions. "This is it. Ready?"

They nodded wordlessly.

"Then let's go."

Page 4


	9. Chapter 9: Breaking the Chain

**Author's Notes: **I'd like to thank everyone for their patience while I try to split my time between my job in the Navy, and writing whenever I get a spare moment. It's taken me about twice as long as I'd hoped, but I've finally managed to finish this story. This is the next to last chapter. I'll be posting the Epilogue as soon as I'm done posting this one. Enjoy!

**Added Notes: **Based on some of the comments I've received on the first version of this chapter, I realized that there was perhaps some confusion in the dialogue, particularly at the end of this chapter. Therefore, I decided to go back and rework it a little bit, and try to be a bit more thorough. Hopefully it will clear things up and make the story better. The changes come in the last three paragraphs of this chapter.

**Breaking The Chain:**

Delta Squad moved forward again, but at a much slower pace this time. Surprise would be their only advantage in this fight, and to keep that advantage, they had to use every bit of stealth training they'd ever been given. Even with their bulky armor and heavy gear, their honed and inbred skills let them slip through the giant trees and dense undergrowth like wraiths.

But to 3-8, even his breathing seemed loud inside his helmet. He was scared, he realized, an emotion that was almost completely alien to him. He wasn't afraid of dying; he was afraid of failing. For this time – the first time that he could remember – there was a high probability that they _would_ fail. And, surprisingly, he was afraid of what would happen should they _succeed_. Yoda was perhaps the greatest Jedi Master alive. What would happen once he was dead, not just on Kashyyk, but throughout the galaxy as a whole?

They were thoughts he tried to shove away, but they were insistent, coinciding with his instincts that something wasn't right. Getting ready to attack Master Yoda just felt _wrong_.

"There he is," Fixer warned quietly over their helmet comms.

3-8 froze as he peered ahead through the trees. "Get ready," he whispered as he sighted through the scope of his DC-17M. "Don't throw the detonators until I give the command."

Sure enough, there he was, hobbling along with such frail-looking determination that it was almost impossible to believe he'd just slaughtered an entire squad of clone troopers. Movement to his left and right caught 3-8's attention, and he saw that two Wookies were flanking the Jedi, heavily armed and watching their surroundings intently. Anything less than commandos would have been spotted instantly. As it was, a single glance in the right direction could still alert the Wookies to their presence.

"Boss?" Scorch prompted.

3-8 sighted in on Yoda's back, but the Jedi disappeared behind a pair of massive worshyr trees. "No shot," he whispered back. "Keep following. I need a new angle."

With 3-8 leading, Delta Squad continued to advance, trailing their prey as if hunting Jedi was natural for them. In fact, it was almost too easy, 3-8 mused. He had thought that Yoda would have sensed their presence by now, as well as their intent. He'd obviously done so with the squad he'd killed at the command post, else he never would have gotten the jump on so many of them. So why wasn't he acknowledging Delta Squad's presence? Perhaps he was too distracted with his escape to concentrate properly on sensing his surroundings.

And perhaps he was leading them into a trap.

The thought almost pulled him up short, but he made himself keep moving. Regardless of the danger to themselves, they couldn't allow their target to escape. Delta Squad had never failed an assignment before, and a direct order from Palpatine himself was not a good place to start.

Suddenly, the undergrowth started thinning out and the forest opened up into a rare clearing as the ground began to slope upward. Almost instantly, 3-8 spotted the small ship further up; Yoda and the Wookies were headed straight for it.

Their time was up. They had to act now.

3-8 stopped short at the edge of the trees, with nothing but a screen of ferns for cover. He brought his carbine up as Master Yoda continued into the open ground.

"Ready," he ordered his companions, and 4-0 and 6-2 each pulled a pair of thermal detonators from their ammo belts.

He settled his sights on the back of the Jedi's head, keeping his finger off the trigger until he was sure he had a good shot. His target kept going, apparently oblivious to his danger. He steadied his carbine, his gloved fingertip sliding back to rest lightly on the trigger. The pressure of a feather was all it would take…

He was opening his mouth to order Fixer and Scorch to throw their detonators when Master Yoda turned around.

Delta 3-8 expected to die at that moment. A storm of lightning, an invisible chokehold around the throat, a simple _thought_ that burned the mind away… he'd seen Jedi use all of these tactics and more, and he was sure he was going to fall by one of them now.

But nothing happened. Yoda didn't strike.

3-8 hesitated, glancing over at 4-0 and 6-2, thinking perhaps the Jedi was dealing with them first. But they were still, staring back at their target, then glancing quickly at him. 3-8 swung his gaze back to Yoda.

"What are you doing?" 4-0 hissed. "Take the shot!"

3-8 almost fired. But as he stared into the Jedi Master's eyes, he saw something that made him shudder. He saw emptiness. There was no anger, no hatred, no murderous intent. There was no treachery, no deceit, no malice. Just quiet, complete, empty calm.

In that instant, he understood. Yoda was not going to try to kill them. He didn't want them dead. He was waiting for _them_ to make the first move, waiting for _them_ to choose their fate. Palpatine was wrong. Order 66 was _wrong_. Yoda was not the betrayer. He was the betrayed. And so were all the other Jedi across the galaxy that were even now being slaughtered.

"Take the shot!" 4-0 all but shouted over their comlink.

"Boss?" Scorch asked in confusion. "What're your orders?"

3-8 looked straight back at Jedi Master Yoda, and nodded once. He relaxed, sliding his finger away from the trigger, and lowered his carbine.

"He's playing a mind trick on him!" Fixer exclaimed, bringing his own blaster up.

"Fixer, no!" 3-8 exclaimed, grabbing the barrel of his companion's DC and yanking it upward. Fixer struggled for a moment, trying to wrench his weapon free, and 3-8 was vaguely aware that Scorch had brought his gun up too, but was training it on the two of them. This was going to get ugly… "Look at him!" he said urgently. He let go of Fixer's carbine, grabbed him by his shoulder plates, and shook him hard. "Look at him!"

Fixer started to pull away, but 3-8 held onto him.

"Look at him," he said again, more calmly, "and tell me that you still want to kill him. Tell me that he's the bad guy here. Tell me that he's actually betrayed us after all this time."

4-0 glanced at the Jedi – who was still watching with a calm that was eerie – but he didn't relax. "It's a mind trick," he insisted quietly.

"No, it's not," 3-8 replied firmly. "It's not a mind trick. It's our instincts telling us that killing him is wrong. You _know_ this whole thing has been strange from the beginning, from the moment the Separatists were waiting for us at the LZ, all the way up to Palpatine giving Order 66. You _know_ it. This is your gut telling you that. And you know what they told us about our instincts in training." He glanced over his shoulder. "Scorch?"

Scorch hesitated a moment, then lowered his carbine. "A soldier should always trust his instincts," he said with what sounded like profound relief.

Fixer glanced once more at the Jedi, then sagged in 3-8's grip. He lowered his rifle slowly. "I hope you're right," he whispered. "Because we've just committed treason."

"I know," 3-8 said back, equally quietly. He faced Master Yoda once again, and came to attention, offering a quick salute. He heard his companions do the same behind and to either side of him.

Yoda returned a small nod, and for a brief moment, emotion flitted across his face. Relief? Surprise? Hope? 3-8 thought it looked more like compassion… or pity. The Jedi turned away again, and started after his Wookie companions, who were still moving away through the forest, oblivious to what had just taken place behind them.

And what _had_ taken place? 3-8 wondered. Delta Squad had just disobeyed a direct order from Chancellor Palpatine himself. In so doing, they had failed a critical mission. _They_ had committed treason.

"I know," he whispered again. "But I think in the end, by the time this war is over, someone, somewhere, will know that we made the right choice. That all of this was worth it."

"And what if they don't?" 4-0 asked, in genuine wonder rather than bitterness. "It's not like we can tell anyone about this."

"Then only we'll know," 3-8 said. "And that will be enough."

The quickly growing whine of approaching engines broke into their quiet conversation and made them look up.

"Drop ships," Scorch said. "Looks like it's time to go home."

"Sounds good to me," Fixer answered wearily.

"Right," 3-8 said, "let's get back to our assault ship, get ourselves patched up, take a breather, and get ready."

"For what?" Scorch asked.

"The next mission."

"But who are we really fighting for?" Fixer asked. "You know we can't trust Palpatine, now."

It was a question that 3-8 had been asking himself for a long time now. Today, it had been answered. Fixer was right. They couldn't fight for a man like Palpatine. But they could fight for the people he'd deceived.

"The same we've always been fighting for," he answered. "The Republic. Always the Republic."


	10. Chapter 10: Epilogue

**Author's Notes: **And here is the Epilogue. Thanks for reading! I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it.

**Added Notes: **Based on some comments I received on the first version of this Epilogue, I realized there was some confusion about what I intended to convey in the dialogue. So, I went back and made a change in the last paragraph, and hopefully, it will clear things up and add to the quality of the story. I hope it's better.

**Epilogue:**

"And what of Master Yoda, on Kashyyk?" Chancellor Palpatine asked again, very quietly.

"Reports are… inconclusive, your Grace," his aide said slowly, uncomfortably. He'd been avoiding the question for the past ten minutes now, and Palpatine was growing weary of it.

"Tell me," he ground out, his scarred, burned larynx lending his voice a sinister tone.

"He… he escaped our troops, your Grace," the aide said finally. "Patrols report that he is nowhere to be found on the planet."

"How did he escape?" Carefully controlled anger was barely veiled in the simple question.

"They are still investigating, sir. However, initial scans of the battlefield shortly after he disappeared from the command post indicate that a commando squad was in position to take him out. They… somehow failed to engage."

"Failed to engage," Palpatine echoed softly, his yellow eyes glittering in the light of the Coruscant cityscape that flooded into his otherwise dark chambers. "Which squad was it?"

"Delta Squad, your Grace," the aide supplied readily, glad to be laying the blame on someone else.

Palpatine just stared straight ahead, clawed fingertips softly tapping on the scorched wooden top of his massive desk.

"Shall I have them recalled, your Grace? We know where they're stationed. We can have them in detention in –"

"No." The single, quiet word seemed loud, for all the baleful command that was put behind it. "No," he said again, even more quietly. "They can still be of use to us. There is another mission that needs to be completed. I want Delta Squad to undertake it." He held up a datacard.

The aide took the card and scanned over it quickly. "But your Grace," he said in confusion, "this would be suicide. Civilian casualties will be catastrophic! The political ramifications… Your Grace… this mission is doomed to failure!"

Palpatine's twisted face finally gave the barest hint of emotion – a small, ugly smile. "Yes, I know." His voice practically dripped with malicious satisfaction. "But _they_ don't need to know that… do they?"

**End.**


End file.
